


another day to do nothing

by Luz



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Dream Pack, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, au: kavinsky has a heart, hangover fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 22:55:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7820470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luz/pseuds/Luz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>sunday morning with everyone's favorite squad of degenerates</p>
            </blockquote>





	another day to do nothing

**Author's Note:**

> wtf have I done . .... uhhhh...... shouts out to all the people in this fandom who have developed these guys way beyond their canon representation and shouts out to maggie for being cool with it

Sunday in the cookie cutter Kavinsky mansion was a day of aspirin, sullen silence, and furtive pawing at stains that would probably never come out. Iva Kavinsky tended to stay in her bedroom and en suite bathroom the entire day, occasionally summoning the maid to bring her mimosas through the com panel in the wall.

Joseph Kavinsky liked it when his mother stayed in her room. It meant that she didn’t break any of his stuff or start yelling, that he had the entire downstairs to himself, and that Skov and Swan didn’t stare at her tits, the latest incarnations of which were new as of March. This last was because his friends rarely attempted to make it back to their dorms after a Saturday night party, preferring to spend the night sprawled variously in the basement, living room, or in the case of Prokopenko, Kavinsky’s bed. 

One day Kavinsky had realized that each of them had a toothbrush stashed somewhere in his house. At first this bothered him, but then he decided that if certain of their classmates lived in the same goddamn warehouse, he and his friends could be just as codependent as they bloody well pleased. He started a rumor that Gansey and Lynch slept in the same bed just in case.

Around two on a Sunday afternoon in early June, the three bodies in Kavinsky’s living room were finally beginning to stir. Swan had almost gotten on his feet when he gave up and laid back down with his face planted more firmly in the futon he was stretched across. A pale hand extended from a vaguely Skov-shaped lump beneath a pile of blankets to retrieve a water bottle from the floor. Jiang used his toes to pull down the shutter on the window nearest his couch.

The silence in the living room was absolute enough that they all heard the raised voices - well, one raised voice - from Kavinsky’s bedroom down the hallway. They cringed in unison at the sound of the door slamming, which in their state registered like a gunshot would.

“The hell’s going on,” Skov croaked from under his blankets. His voice was shot, probably because he had been screaming along to all the songs he liked for an hour by the time they went to bed.

“Don’t ask me. Don’t know how they had energy to fuck in the first place,” Swan muttered. With an effort, he sat up on the futon just as Prokopenko came into the living room. His sandy hair was a mess and he looked about ready to cry.

“Hey,” Swan said, patting the futon next to him. “What’s up?”

Proko sighed, but he came over and leaned his head on Swan’s brown shoulder. “He’s being an _ass_ ,” he said bitterly. “Told me to get out. For no reason. As if his bed isn’t big enough for eight people.” 

“He’s just hungover,” Skov mumbled, finally poking his head out and squinting.

“We’re _all_ hungover,” Proko replied sulkily. No one argued. Skov got up with all of his blankets wrapped around him and joined the two of them on the futon. He appeared to be bare skinned beneath them.

“Here,” he murmured, producing a joint from somewhere within the folds. “Got a light?”

Swan grunted and fished beneath the cushion until he found his silver plated lighter. It was a dream gift from Kavinsky. The tiny trumpeter swan etched on one side was supposed to be funny or something.

After they’d each had a hit, Skov got up again, adjusting his blanket cape, and approached Jiang, who remained motionless. 

“Rise and shine,” he said, voice even more fucked now. “Rise and bake.” He laughed harshly and waved the joint at the sliver of face that Jiang turned toward him. 

Jiang groaned low and drawn out, but took the joint and dragged on it for a long time. “Can we watch Finding Nemo?” he said a minute later. The others snorted, but he sounded so pathetic that it seemed cruel to refuse him. 

An hour later Kavinsky came in, freshly showered and toweling his head off. Prokopenko didn’t say anything, training his eyes on the movie.

Kavinsky sighed. “Look, sorry about before. I’ve had a bitch of a headache.”

“Did kicking me out make it feel better?” Proko asked icily, still not looking at him.

Kavinsky rolled his eyes, but the way his fingers drummed on his thigh betrayed his agitation at having Proko upset with him. That, or he hadn't snorted anything in a while.

“Make me pancakes,” Proko said, “and I’ll forgive you.” Skov poked him in the side. “Pancakes for our friends too.”

Kavinsky’s mouth had actually dropped open. “I don’t know how to make fucking _pancakes_ ,” he said with narrowed eyes. “The cook isn’t here on Sunday.”

Proko rolled his eyes. “There are instructions on the back of the packet. Unless you want to make them from scratch.”

“You really think I’m gonna - “

“I’d like bacon too.”

Kavinsky stood there in disbelief for several seconds, Proko still not looking in his direction. “Fucking Christ,” he finally snarled. “You better hope I don’t put any goddamn rat poison in them.”

He stalked away to the kitchen, where a loud series of crashes began.

“I guess his headache went away,” Proko remarked sourly.

Skov shrugged. “At least we’re getting breakfast.”

“Lunch,” Swan corrected, voice murky from his high.

“Don’t be pedantic,” Skov said. 

Swan looked at him incredulously. “You actually studied Milo’s vocab?”

“No, dick, I fucking knew that word. I’m not an idiot just because I hang out with you assholes,” Skov snapped.

“No. You two don’t start. Please,” Jiang groaned. “I really, _really_ can’t handle any more.”

Skov scowled. “Fine. I’m picking the next movie though. No more of this cartoon bullshit. I want to see some blood. Quick, put on Saw while K’s gone and then we’ll get to see him try to pretend he’s not afraid.”

In the end Kavinsky made them pancakes, like they knew he would. Skov talked them into watching two of the Saw movies, like they knew he would. By the beginning of the second Proko had softened and let K cuddle with him, like they knew he would. One by one they each crept off to find the bathroom where their toothbrush was stashed.

Kavinsky watched them with affected apathy, trying his best to ignore the twinge of affection he felt when Jiang rolled another joint “because you missed the first one” and the subsequent one when he noticed Swan still hadn’t lost the lighter he’d dreamt for him three months ago. Routine and predictability were not words in Kavinsky’s vocabulary, but somehow their Sunday ritual had nested in his heart.

He was definitely getting soft, he thought. He needed to do something about that. Then Proko started rubbing his shoulders, though, and he decided that it could wait until Monday.

**Author's Note:**

> my friends i absolutely love comments lmk what u thought


End file.
